


and if they don't dance (well they're no friends of mine)

by KiaraSayre



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Ballet, Crack-ish, Dancing, F/M, Gen, gratuitous Shakespeare references
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-18
Updated: 2014-01-18
Packaged: 2018-01-09 03:15:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1140776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KiaraSayre/pseuds/KiaraSayre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I'm here to ask for help - not in any official capacity, just from one person who's a shitty dancer to someone who's actually kind of terrific at it."</p>
            </blockquote>





	and if they don't dance (well they're no friends of mine)

**Author's Note:**

> This has been burning a hole in my WIP folder for almost a year now, so I figured I'd finish the damn thing and post it. Unbeta'ed. Rating is for language and some sexual(ish) content.
> 
> Title is from "Safety Dance," because...well, why not?

"You're kidding," Jim says, and Sam shrugs on the viewscreen.

"It's an Aldebari wedding tradition and Aurelan wants to honor it. I think it'll be fun."

"Or an unmitigated disaster," says Jim. "I can't dance. You _know_ I can't dance."

"It's just one dance, Jim. Besides, Mom already said yes."

Jim throws his hands up in the air. "You already talked to Mom! Of course you did."

"Consider it a wedding gift," says Sam. "And she got your leave lined up so you can be there, too."

"This," says Jim, his head buried in his hands, "is a conspiracy. Are you trying to get me killed?"

"It'll be fun!" says Sam. 

"Aurelan has you wrapped around her little pinkie, doesn't she," says Jim, pulling his head out of his hands only to shake it.

"That too," Sam agrees. "But, really, though, if you're going to be in the dance itself you're going to have to start practicing. I'm sending you the steps and a program that should tie into the environmental control sensors on your floor to monitor your footwork, and any motion-sensors should be able to catch your arm movements. There's an automated tutor that should correct you if you're having trouble."

"Right, because I'm so good at listening to instruction. Who even makes a program like that, anyway?"

Sam ducks his head with a grin. "Starfleet Diplomatic Corps, actually. They have a whole library of tutors and sensor interfaces, for all of the Aldebari ceremonial dances. Aurelan wasn't sure if they'd have one for a wedding with a party like ours, but we're in luck."

"Right," says Jim. "Luck."

The program, tutor, and instructions come through later that day, when Jim is out of his office and in the recreation room eating his breakfast. He installs the program and the tutor remotely, via his PADD, and then opens up the instruction file.

And squints at it.

He turns his PADD sideways to resize the diagrams, but it doesn't help. Some of them look like written music, with ovals and slashes which, upon closer examination, appear to be crudely drawn stick figures being shot full of arrows. Or possibly shooting arrows. 

It takes Jim an embarrassingly long time to realize that the arrows indicate movement of limbs.

Other diagrams show clear footprints to represent footfalls, with full-foot outlines interspersed with circular heel-strikes and ovals for where only the ball of the foot and the toes touch the floor. That one is at least labelled, which Jim appreciates greatly.

Some of them, though, remind Jim of nothing so much as some of his advanced physics classes. There are neat grids laid out with locations notated with "x"s and subscripts to indicate...something? Jim's mostly looking at the pictures at this point, but maybe it's described in the text.

The worst ones are the ones that are color-coded to convey the passage of time - yellow footfalls for steps in the first thirty seconds, orange marks for the next thirty, and so on.

That's about when he decides that part of being Captain of a starship is knowing when to call in reinforcements.

 

"You dance, right?"

Nyota looks up from her dinner to see Kirk settling in with his own food and a PADD across from her. She narrows her eyes at him, but responds - albeit with another question. "How do you know that?"

"You were in the Starfleet Academy Ballet Showcase last year. You had a solo with a guy wearing all blue who jumped around like he was on a trampoline, and your leg got so high I thought for sure you were going to kick your dance partner in the ear."

Nyota had come very close to doing just that in rehearsals, not that she would ever admit that to Kirk. "That is possibly the most asinine description of the Bluebird _pas de deux_ I've ever heard, and it's by definition not a solo if someone else is dancing with you." Then she frowns. "And what were you doing at the ballet, anyway? Please don't say ogling women."

"Of course not," says Kirk, putting a hand to his heart in offense. "Tutus have surprisingly good coverage. I was there to ogle the men. Those tights provide _definition_."

Nyota rolls her eyes. "What do you want, Captain?"

"We're both off-duty, you know. You can call me Jim."

"What do you want, _Kirk_?"

Kirk sighs, drooping his shoulders theatrically. "We'll get there eventually. Have you ever done any Aldebari dance? The ones with all the people dancing together?"

"You've just described almost every Aldebari dance," says Nyota. "Ever. Can you be more specific?"

Kirk spins the PADD so it's facing her and slides it across the table. "I can be very specific, actually. I'm here to ask for help - not in any official capacity, just from one person who's a shitty dancer to someone who's actually kind of terrific at it."

"Flattery will get you nowhere," Nyota says, but pulls the PADD towards herself, curious anyway. A quick glance at the diagrams show that the steps themselves are fairly simple variations, building on the traditional steps usually used in Aldebari improvisational dances - some of the more complex Aldebari dances have their own unique form unlike any other dance, or - more recently - borrow heavily from other planets' forms. 

She skims a few paragraphs of text, and raises her eyebrows. "How'd you get yourself invited to be in an Aldebari wedding party?"

"What? How do you know that?" Kirk demands, arching his neck to try to see the PADD upside-down.

"'This guide outlines the steps for the most highly honored sibling or peer of the groom's wedding party,'" Nyota quotes, and looks up. "You didn't actually read any of the text, did you?"

"I figured the pictures were the important part," Kirk admits. 

"Well, the good news is that this is fairly straightforward, as Aldebari wedding dances go. Do you have any background in dance at all?"

Kirk shakes his head. "Not other than the ogling, no."

Nyota looks at him for a long moment, internally debating, and then sighs. "Be in the gym space on Deck 14 at 2100 hours tomorrow," she tells him. "You get one hour to learn the basic steps, and then you're on your own."

"You're a life-saver," Kirk says, grinning widely at her with relief.

"Just one question," says Nyota, tapping the PADD with one finger. "Who's getting married?"

"My brother," he says. "The leave for the ceremony is all lined up, so I can't get out of it."

"Oh," says Nyota, thrown. "I didn't realize you had a brother."

Kirk shrugs. "I guess he's not the George Kirk most people know about." He takes back his PADD and picks up his plate, with a smile that seems the tiniest bit forced. "2100 tomorrow, Deck 14. Thanks again."

Nyota can't think of anything to say to him as he leaves.

 

Jim shows up early, since he figures that showing up late when Uhura's already doing him a favor would be kind of douchey. Also, frankly, if he can squeeze out a few more minutes of help, he'll take it. When it comes to Jim's prowess at any kind of structured dancing, 'two left feet' would only be a slight exaggeration, although he can grind with the best of them. And has, to be honest.

Uhura's already in the gym when Jim gets there, and dancing; soft, undulating notes of piano music and graceful, sweeping cello accompaniment fill the gym. Uhura, on the far side of the gym in front of a bank of mirrors, stands on tiptoe - in toe shoes, Jim realizes, so she's actually on her toes - and takes tiny, quick steps as her arms rise and fall in winglike bows, but she immediately drops down onto her heels when she sees Jim behind her in the mirror.

"Wow," says Jim, "you're really - "

"You're early," says Uhura, and once again the grace is hidden under her usual snappishness. "Computer, music off." 

Jim realizes as Uhura goes walks over to the wall to where she has a towel and a water bottle, her grace isn't gone, just transmuted into the ever-present sense of purpose that seems to follow her around wherever she goes.

"Yeah, I thought I'd be considerate for once and be on time," says Jim, and Uhura gives him a flat look. "And I'm pretty desperate," he admits.

Uhura rolls her eyes and turns her attention to her water bottle. After a few good gulps, she lowers it again, and sizes Jim up. "Take your shoes off," she says, "you won't be needing them. And your socks, they'll just get in the way."

Jim complies, and Uhura keeps talking.

"Did your brother say whether he and his fiancee were going to go traditional for the wedding dance, or if they were going to use pressure-activated pads for the dance floor?"

Jim grimaces up at Uhura from the floor. "Traditional," he says. "I asked. Well, begged. And maybe cried, but don't repeat that to anyone else."

"Don't worry, Captain," says Uhura, sweetly, "I only repeat gossip that I think has a chance of being true."

"As if I would lie to you!" says Jim, standing up and wiggling his now-bare toes against the hard surface of the gym floor. "They're going all-out for the dance, outfits and everything."

Uhura lays the mouth of her water bottle against her lips, but it does nothing to hide her smile. "Including the pants?"

"Including the most awkward pants ever to be invented by a sentient, bipedal race," Jim says. "Sam said once the dance is over and we're all, you know, covered in paint, they'll be a keepsake. I told him he meant 'eyesore,' and he said that, too."

"I'm so glad to have a captain so enthusiastic about embracing the differences of other cultures," says Uhura. "Before we can get started, I need to get a sense of how you dance in general."

"Meaning what?" says Jim.

"Meaning I need to know if we're going to be starting with what the steps are, or what rhythm is," says Uhura. "Computer, play music file Uhura five-three-alpha-two."

The song is familiar, at least - it's popular, but not dance music, the kind of music he's heard in restaurants in San Francisco on shore leave, not the clubs, but it has a steady, popping beat - one-two-three _one-two_. 

Jim looks at Uhura, eyebrows raised in uncertainty, and she makes a shooing motion at him. "I need to see what we're working with," she says. "Go on."

"Usually when I'm dancing it's with other people," Jim says. "In a crowd, with other people who are all dancing too."

"That's nice," says Uhura. "Now dance."

Jim considers the odds of getting Uhura to dance with him, and decides to pick another hill to die on. On one hand, this is going to be incredibly awkward, but on the other hand, it's going to be incredibly awkward no matter what – and maybe he'll be able to get Uhura to smile.

Besides, Jim Kirk half-asses nothing.

So he jumps into it, literally, not just shifting his weight from foot to foot but letting his hips swing and his arms flail. He does little shoulder-pops to match his hips, elongating one side of his torso and then the other, occasionally pumping his arms or letting his fists circle one another when he feels like it. When that starts to feel old, he shifts the motions from side-to-side to front-to-back, pulling his fists towards him and pushing them away to the beat of the music, arching his back and straightening it to bring his pelvis forward and back.

He hears a choked noise from Uhura that might be suppressed laughter, and turns away to hide his own grin. Blatantly shaking his ass in front of a subordinate, even off the clock, would be a little much, and more importantly would be more likely to make Uhura roll her eyes than laugh, so he switches to expansive kicks and flourishes with his arms that he's pretty sure he saw in some early twentieth century holo, flinging his arms out and reeling them back in until the song finally ends.

Jim takes a moment to catch his breath – he's even broken a sweat, Jesus, does he need to work on his training regimen? – and then turns back to Uhura. She has one hand against her mouth and her other arm tucked beneath her elbow, but Jim can tell she wants to laugh by the way the corners of her eyes are crinkled.

"Well?" he says, trying not to pant.

Uhura clears her throat and lowers her hand, once more straight-faced. "Surprisingly, you have a decent sense of rhythm," she says. "We can work with this."

Jim throws his arms out and grins. "Is there anything I can't do?"

Uhura grins, and this time it's placid, deep, and – quite frankly – smug, like a shark's. "I guess we're about to find out. We'll start with footwork."

Footwork, Jim soon learns, is dance-code for torture.

"No, your left foot needs to be straight and your right foot at a ninety-degree angle to it," Uhura says for the fifth time, using her toes to push the ball of Jim's foot into the proper alignment. She steadies him with her hands on his shoulders, so they're almost chest-to-chest, but the moment she lets go he begins to wobble.

"Can't I move my foot up?" Jim says. "This is seriously not stable."

"You need to shift your weight back," says Uhura, "so it's resting directly above your left heel. This isn't fencing – both of your heels should be in a straight line with the ball of your right foot."

"How'd you know Sulu was showing me how to fence?" Jim grumbles, but slowly and carefully shifts his weight further back. Uhura shakes her head again, returning her hands to his shoulders and gently guiding him to his left.

"The right foot shouldn't be bearing any weight, because sometimes the heel isn't even going to be touching the floor," she says. "Here, just – "

Jim topples to his ass.

Uhura sighs, closing her eyes briefly.

Jim stands up again, resisting the temptation to massage his rapidly-bruising ass. "Okay," he says, taking a deep breath. "Again?"

They manage to make it through four more types of steps, including the seriously annoying one where Jim makes three full revolutions while tracing out an equilateral triangle with his footfalls that reminds Jim of nothing so much as the old astronaut training exercises designed to induce vomiting.

At the end of the hour, Uhura checks the time on her communicator and frowns. "We haven't even gotten to hand motions," she says.

"I just appreciate everything you've done for me already," says Jim, stretching his arms behind his head. They're the only part of his body that doesn't ache. "Seriously – I'm already way ahead of where I was an hour again."

Uhura shakes her head at him. "How long before the wedding?"

"Six weeks."

"Okay," says Uhura, grabbing her water bottle from her stash of equipment near the gym wall. "Same time next week."

Jim hesitates. "Really?"

"You need to practice with someone who can correct you," says Uhura.

"And by 'correct', you mean 'manhandle,'" says Jim.

"That seems to be the only thing that sticks, so yes," says Uhura. "Same time, next week."

That's when Jim begins to realize that Uhura doesn't half-ass anything, either.

 

Nyota watches the minutes tick by on her communicator, her mood growing darker by the second. Kirk finally shows up precisely five minutes late, and responds to her raised eyebrows with a shrug.

"I thought you might like some time to finish up your practice," he says.

"Right," says Nyota, letting the 't' pop with disbelief. She points to the mats. "Let's start with a refresher from last time."

She takes him through the sequence of steps, and, to her surprise, what they did last week seems to have stuck – he's still a little wobbly on the Aldebari equivalent of third position, but his feet settle into the perpendicular formation with relative ease.

"Yes, I've been practicing," he says, with no small amount of smugness in his voice. "I have no idea what Sulu and Chekov think I've been doing with my feet like this in the Captain's chair, but it seems to be working."

This explains a lot of the looks she's been noticing in the forward section of the bridge. Nyota licks her lips to hide her smile. 

"Then we can move on to the next steps," she says, and Kirk stands up a bit straighter, squaring his shoulders. Nyota wonders if he realizes he approaches learning the dance steps the same way he approaches unexpected sensor readings, away missions, communications from admirals, and Klingons – cockiness, of course, and confidence, but with surprising focus and concentration.

She demonstrates the next sequence of steps for him, a small hop to transfer the weight from one foot to the other and extending the opposite leg, and watches him repeat it slowly at first, and then progressively faster. Once he's got the building blocks, he's good at combining them and generalizing, she'll give him that, and he's not half-bad for someone with no formal training.

Half an hour into the practice they switch to hand motions, since that's where most of the interaction with other dancers lies; the dance at the wedding will take Jim across the entire dance floor, but with his role in the dance, his hands will be meeting other dancers' in light touches, harder claps, and the occasional grip for a twirl.

Those, of course, require a partner, and Nyota fills in out of necessity. They're practicing a sequence of hand-to-hand turns and steps when she says, "How did you manage to arrange leave for a wedding with only six weeks' notice?"

Kirk huffs out a laugh between spins and says, "I didn't, actually. My mother did."

"That's right – she's Starfleet too, isn't she?"

"Engineering," he says, with a slight furrow of concentration wrinkling his brow. "But she's a lifer, so she knows people." He shakes his head, and Nyota notes with satisfaction that his footwork doesn't falter with the gesture this time. The small-talk is to see how much he's really internalized the motions, and so far it's bearing results. "I bet it was Pike," Kirk continues. "He always thinks he knows what's best."

"I would just be glad to get shore leave," says Nyota, switching her hands. Kirk follows her lead smoothly, although with a knowing glance to show he knows exactly what she's doing.

"Technically, she got the Enterprise a cargo resupply mission to the colony where Sam and Aurelan are getting married that just happens to coincide with the wedding day," says Kirk. "So I'm not the only one who's going to be getting shore leave."

Nyota raises an eyebrow. "Aren't Aldebari weddings open to everyone?" she asks, lifting her hand and curling her fingers into his to indicate a twirl.

"Yeah," says Kirk, his concentration on the motion, "they're supposed to be big parties."

"Then who knows," she says innocently, "you may see some familiar faces at the wedding."

 _That_ rattles him enough to break his concentration, and Nyota gives him her most innocent smile. 

"Looks like our hour's up," she says, dropping his hand and going to where her water bottle is stashed against the gym wall. 

He follows her to his own water and takes a long gulp – she can see his Adam's apple rise and fall with the motion of his throat. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, a gesture she recognizes from away missions as the way he wipes blood away from his mouth and nose after a fight. She wonders, briefly, whether he started using the gesture with blood or water.

"I'll come right on time next time," he says, startling her out of her thoughts. "I didn't want to interrupt you again – although you were very…" He trails off and makes an aborted gesture with one hand, like a fluttering wing. "Graceful," he finishes.

Nyota had, in fact, stopped her own ballet practice early today in case he was early, and each minute past when she stopped grated on her as another minute she could've practiced in calm solitude. She says, "All right."

"It's good that you have a hobby that you keep up with," Kirk says, with a fleeting, self-aware smile. "God knows most of the senior staff are terrible at making time for things that aren't away missions or paperwork."

Nyota puts on a sweet smile and layers her voice with sympathy when she says, "I know it must be hard for you, what with no farm animals up here for you to have sex with."

Kirk grins, cocky and loose, and it's like a switch has been flipped – he's gone from Captain Kirk to drunk-asshole-from-the-bar-in-Iowa in two seconds flat. He says, "We've talked about this before – I'm not nearly that exclusive. My standards are much lower."

Nyota's curiosity gets the better of her, in terms of his reaction as much as the actual answer, and she asks, "So what do you do, then, when you're not engaging in recreational agricultural bestiality?"

Bar-Kirk fades, leaving a Kirk more reminiscent of him learning a new step, and Nyota realizes that he's actually taking the question seriously. "I like to read, actually," he says. "Preferably hard, paper copies. There's something about being able to turn the pages, and the smell." He glances at her, and something in his eyes shifts again. He glances furtively from side to side, then leans in to say, "Just don't tell the cows, okay? I have a reputation to maintain."

"Reading," Nyota repeats.

Kirk shrugs. "It passes the time."

"Right," says Nyota, twisting the cap back onto her water bottle with exaggerated attention. "What's your favorite, then?"

"Favorite what? You're going to need to be more specific – I'm not going to rank the entire canon of galactic literature just because you're being vague."

"Fine – have you read Shakespeare?"

Kirk's head pulls back like a bird's, and he stares at her. "Have I read Shakespeare? Are you serious?"

"Favorite Shakespeare, then," says Nyota.

"Much Ado About Nothing, no question."

Nyota tilts her head, assessing him, then nods. "I can see that. Now that you mention it, you do remind me of one character in particular."

Kirk grins. "'What, my dear Lady Disdain! are you yet living?'" he quotes.

"I was going to say Dogberry," says Nyota.

That startles a genuine laugh out of Kirk, and he gives her a flourishing half-bow. "Well, do not forget to specify, when time and place may serve, that I am an ass."

 

Jim gets curious, which is always dangerous. First he looks up all of Uhura's public dance experience, and watches the videos when he can - which, yeah, he feels a little weird about doing because she's his subordinate and she also kind of hates him but also agreed to teach him to dance just because he asked and despite what he said, tutus have very little coverage and the videos have very high definition.

But there's something that just feels off about all this, even though he can't even articulate just what "all this" is, so he goes looking.

Her list of roles is impressive, even though the Starfleet Academy Ballet Troupe only ever does showcases and not entire ballets. Still, she danced as the Black Swan in a _pas de deux_ from Swan Lake, the Sugar Plum Fairy in the _pas de deux_ from The Nutcracker, Kitri in the _pas de deux_ from Don Quixote…and of course, Princess Florine in a _pas de deux_ from Sleeping Beauty.

Jim can see the trend there, even if he doesn't know what he means. It makes a bit more sense once he looks up what a _pas de deux_ is - any ballet dance with two dancers. 

Curious.

It weighs on him a bit as he goes into his last practice with Uhura.

"We're going to try something a little bit different today," Uhura tells him when he walks in. "You've got the basics down well enough that you probably won't embarrass yourself, once you've practiced a little bit more, but you can do better than 'not humiliating.' I've turned the pressure sensors on in the floor. We're not going to be able to do it with all the other parts in the dance, obviously, but we can at least get a sense of how you're doing for the wedding mural."

"Oh, great," says Jim, stretching his arms out in front of him to start limbering up. "So we can have a record of every time I mess up."

Uhura raises her eyebrows at him. "I meant what I said, Kirk. You're not going to embarrass yourself."

"No, I'm sure my new sister-in-law's Aldebari family will be thrilled if I do perfectly mediocre in their daughter's wedding dance."

This time Uhura purses her lips. "Kirk, do I strike you as the kind of person who gives out compliments just to make people feel better?"

Jim laughs out loud for a long few seconds before he gets control of himself. "Uh, no. No, you don't."

"Then believe me when I say that you're going to do fine," says Uhura, then makes that shooing motion again. "Go on. I want at least one complete runthrough before the hour's up."

Jim goes on.

From beginning to end, the dance takes about eight minutes, and they're about thirty seconds through it when Uhura stops him the first time to correct him - he's rotating too far in his turns, so what's supposed to be an equilateral triangle ends up being awkward and overfolded. He starts from the top again, and this time lasts about fifteen seconds past the spot where she stopped him last time before she stops him again.

They go fifteen minutes over, but manage to do a complete runthrough with Uhura's approval, and when Jim plants his feet for the last step, Uhura's even smiling.

"Well, congratulations," she tells him, and motions to the tracks left by the sensors. The pattern is awkward, definitely, but it's recognizable from the diagrams in the book Sam had sent him. "You did it."

"I guess I did," says Jim, still breathing hard from the exertion. He can't help but stare at the tracks - all of the practice before had been one thing, measurable in the time lost to it, but this is an actual, tangible record of what he's accomplished over the past six weeks - with Uhura's help.

Suddenly the whole marriage-dance-mural thing makes sense to Jim, in a kind of sideways, weird way.

"Huh," says Jim.

A water bottle comes into his line of sight, and he turns his head to see Uhura holding it out to him. "You'll want to drink it - all of it," she says. "We went harder today than we did before, and if you get dehydrated, you might cramp. Trust me, it's not fun."

Jim lets out a short, sharp breath of a laugh as he takes the bottle. "Not a lot of this whole dancing thing is fun, to be honest," he says. "It looks so easy when you do it, and then everything just gets all…" He waves the hand not holding the water bottle in a vague but chaotic gesture. "Tangled."

"The hard part is making it look easy," Uhura agrees, and Jim chugs the water. Like after a hard workout, drinking it feels like breathing after holding his breath, but he stops when the bottle's half-empty in favor of actually breathing some more.

"What was the dance you were doing a few weeks ago?" he asks, because this is the last practice and he figures why not?

Uhura looks at him assessingly, then says, "It's called The Dying Swan."

"Whoa, really?" says Jim. "That's - dark."

"It's one of the most famous ballet solos of all time," Uhura says.

"What is it with ballets and swans?" Jim asks, shaking his head.

"That's a coincidence, actually. Swan Lake was composed by Tchaikovsky in the late nineteenth century, but The Dying Swan was choreographed to an existing piece of music by Saint-Saens in the early twentieth." Uhura takes a sip of her own water bottle, and then adds, "Besides, they're graceful."

Jim shakes his head. "They're mean, is what they are. Them and geese. Not worth it."

Uhura looks at him with put-on sympathy. "Did you have a bad experience with waterfowl when you were young?"

"I wasn't young, I was old and unprepared, and yes, it was terrible." Jim recaps his water bottle and says, still looking at the bottle, "Look, if you ever want...I don't know, a partner or something - I mean, I know there's some stuff that you just can't do alone in ballet, and obviously I don't know everything, but if you need someone to spot you or whatever, you can let me know."

When he looks up, Uhura is watching him strangely. "You just said dancing was terrible."

"Well, yeah, but it's terrible the same way that working out is terrible," says Jim. "It sucks while you're doing it and sometimes you'd rather die than spend another single minute doing it, but once it's done you look back and it was worth it. And like I said, I know there's some stuff you can't do alone, and if that's the stuff you like…" He shrugs. "I'm happy to help."

Uhura blinks at him rapidly, but says, "Thanks."

"Yeah, no problem," says Jim. "Just don't make me wear those tights, okay? They're great to look at, but they do _not_ look comfortable."

Uhura tilts her head back and laughs, full-throated and delighted. "Oh, no no no, Kirk, you're a dancer now. Forget about comfortable. Now it's all about _form_ , and there's no going back."

 

The wedding is held outside, which is a fairly radical departure from Aldebari tradition, but Nyota can see why even the most traditional of Aldebari brides would give in to this place: it's a sizeable pavillion of white, marble-like stone, smooth but unpolished, nestled in a warm, temperate forest. An ivy-like plant climbs up the columns in patterns scored into the stone for it to grow in, and the trees around the pavillion have been adorned with small golden lights that fill the pavillion with a soft glow for the late afternoon ceremony.

Nyota and Spock find themselves a good spot in the crowd around the paper prepared for the dance-mural and watch as the dancers - the wedding party - take their places by the low, shallow bowls of paint strategically placed on the paper. Nyota is quite frankly tickled to see that they are indeed wearing traditional Aldebari wedding dress, and picks Kirk out on the far end of the paper. He can't quite make the ensemble work, although his physique is certainly making its best effort: an open, sleeveless vest made of undyed cloth and pants of the same material that cling tight to his legs from his thighs through to a few inches above his ankles, where they abruptly end. The women in the wedding party look only slightly less ridiculous - they wear short but flowing skirts of the same material, but their shirts instead cover their arms, their breasts, and their backs, and very little else.

"Finding this illogical?" Nyota murmurs to Spock.

"Immensely," Spock replies. "Do you know if photography is allowed?"

"That would be mean," Nyota tells him. "That's what the professional photographer is for."

"Assembled beings," booms the voice of the mistress of ceremonies, "please join us now in the marriage-dance for Aurelan Hashervi of Aldeberan and George Samuel Kirk, of Earth!"

The music begins, familiar from the many practices, and Nyota smiles as Jim dips his first foot into the bowl of paint by him with a grimaced attempt at a smile that looks fake even on the other end of the paper. The other male dancers do the same, and as other instruments join the heavy drumbeat, they begin to move.

It's a whirling, bouncing dance. The men leave footprints of paint where their feet fall, and the women have sponges already loaded with paint that they transfer to the men's hands for spins and other contact. The result is messy, to say the least, paint splattering over the clothing of all the dancers, flinging off the women's skirts and trailing from the men's feet as they weave across, around, and beside each other. Only a few minutes into the dance, Nyota catches an exhilarated grin on Kirk's face, and follows the pattern left by his feet.

He's dancing flawlessly.

He could use a bit more polish, of course, but his angles, the pressure of his footfalls, even what Nyota can make out of his contacts with his partners are well within the range of acceptability. By the time the dance ends, his part of the mural is interwoven in the careful sunburst pattern of a traditional Aldebari wedding dance, and all of the dancers but two are off the paper entirely. Those two - Sam and Aurelan - stand in the middle of the sunburst, paint-splattered but glowing. They kiss as the final notes echo through the pavillion, and Kirk starts the applause and approving hoots even though clapping only splatters the paint worse.

"Curious," Spock says, audible only to Nyota over the applause.

"Anything in particular, or the entire practice?" Nyota asks.

"I do not believe the Captain is meant to have paint everywhere that he has paint," Spock says, and when Kirk turns around to accept some congratulations from the crowd, Nyota sees what he's talking about. Kirk has the clear imprint of a hand on his ass, a bright and cheerful blue against the plain clothing.

"Should we inform him?" Spock asks, and Nyota can't hold back a grin.

"I'm sure he'll figure it out eventually."

"Assembled beings," the mistress of ceremonies announces, "I present to you Mr. and Mrs. Hashervi!"

"That is not an Aldebari tradition," Spock notes.

Nyota remembers Kirk's comment from all those weeks ago, and says, "I guess I can't really blame him."

They find Kirk at the bar about half an hour later, when the dance-mural has been hung at the far end of the pavillion and the cleared space is open for anyone to dance in. As is Aldebari tradition, Kirk is still wearing the paint-covered clothes, as he will be for the rest of the evening, but he grins and Spock and Nyota anyway.

"There you guys were! I was wondering if you'd shown up."

"I put six weeks into your dancing - as if I would miss it," Nyota says.

"I must admit to some cultural curiosity," Spock says. "Aldebari weddings are not exceedingly common, particularly as traditional as this one was."

"Don't I know it," says Kirk darkly. "But, hey, you'll get to meet my brother, and my sister-in-law, and my mom. I'm sure you'll get along great - you can just trade stories about all the dumb shit I've done and you'll be laughing all night."

"Oh, no," says Nyota. "I worked with you on Aldebari dance for six whole weeks - you think you're getting off easy with just one dance? Come on and show me what you can do." 

Jim glances from her to Spock. "You sure?"

"By all means, Captain," says Spock. "Apparently, Vulcans have little to no rhythm, and as such I make a less-than-ideal dance partner for Nyota. I understand you volunteered your services, and I thank you."

"I'm going to regret that, aren't I," says Kirk.

"If you don't regret it already, you're not as smart as I thought you were," says Nyota, and holds out her hand. "May I have this dance?"

Kirk grins, and takes it.


End file.
